The Wanderer's Necklace eBook

“It seems that you are more interested than
your niece, who has never spoken a word to me concerning
her,” answered Palka. “Well, since
you are a man, I should not have thought this strange,
had you not been blind, for they say she was the most
beautiful woman in Egypt. As for her fate, you
must ask God, since none know it. When the army
of Musa was encamped yonder by the Nile my husband,
Marcus, who had taken two donkey-loads of forage for
sale to the camp and was returning by moonlight, saw
her run past him, a red knife in her hand, her face
set towards the Gateway of the Kings. After that
he saw her no more, nor did anyone else, although
they hunted long enough, even in the tombs, which
the Moslems, like our people, fear to visit. Doubtless
she fell or threw herself into some hole in the rocks;
or perhaps the wild beasts ate her. Better so
than that a child of the old Pharaohs should become
the woman of an infidel.”

“Yes,” I answered, “better so.
But why do folk fear to visit those tombs of which
you speak, Palka?”

“Why? Because they are haunted, that is
all, and even the bravest dread the sight of a ghost.
How could they be otherwise than haunted, seeing that
yonder valley is sown with the mighty dead like a field
with corn?”

“Yet the dead sleep quietly enough, Palka.”

“Aye, the common dead, Hodur; but not these
kings and queens and princes, who, being gods of a
kind, cannot die. It is said that they hold their
revels yonder at night with songs and wild laughter,
and that those who look upon them come to an evil
end within a year. Whether this be so I cannot
say, since for many years none have dared to visit
that place at night. Yet that they eat I know
well enough.”

“How do you know, Palka?”

“For a good reason. With the others in
this village I supply the offerings of their food.
The story runs that once the great building, of which
this house is a part, was a college of heathen priests
whose duty it was to make offerings to the dead in
the royal tombs. When the Christians came, those
priests were driven away, but we of Kurna who live
in their house still make the offerings. If we
did not, misfortune would overtake us, as indeed has
always happened if they were forgotten or neglected.
It is the rent that we pay to the ghosts of the kings.
Twice a week we pay it, setting food and milk and water
upon a certain stone near to the mouth of the valley.”

“Then what happens, Palka?”

“Nothing, except that the offering is taken.”

“By beggar folk, or perchance by wild creatures!”

“Would beggar folk dare to enter that place
of death?” she answered with contempt.
“Or would wild beasts take the food and pile
the dishes neatly together and replace the flat stones
on the mouths of the jars of milk and water, as a
housewife might? Oh! do not laugh. Of late
this has always been done, as I who often fetch the
vessels know well.”